


A Poison Tree

by PuckB



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Dark Will, M/M, Manipulation, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 11:53:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17202944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuckB/pseuds/PuckB
Summary: When Will Graham escapes Hannibal Lecter, four years after their disappearance, and is found bruised and traumatized, it is expected that Hannibal would follow him to Baltimore, leaving a trail of bodies behind. But things are not always what they seem, and Hannibal appears to be playing a new game.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> See end notes for spoilers on the violence and character deaths.
> 
> This fic was written over the course of several months last year, then sat in my files for a few more months until it was beta-read by the wonderful [Iimpavid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iimpavid), who was super helpful and patient! (Thank you again!!) And then it waited a few more months -again- until I could finish editing it and post it.  
> This fic is 100% self indulgent, I had headcanons and somehow they were inspiring enough that I wrote a complete fic for the first time in years.  
> This was really fun to write, and I hope it will be fun to read!

    Once the sun set and the night started enveloping the world in darkness, silence permeated the BAU headquarters in Quantico, Virginia. After most of the personel left, the only sound echoing in the empty corridors was the flickering of old neon lights. Once in while, quiet footsteps could be heard crossing from one room to another, sometimes even the low murmur of voices and the buzzing noise of the coffee machine, but overall there was quiet. During the day the building was like a beehive, rushing and buzzing with urgency, but at night it became almost peaceful.

Jack always stayed late at the office. It was an habit he always had during big cases, but after Bella’s death, he had taken to doing it every day; there was no point of hurrying back to an empty home, and he appreciated the quiet.

When his office phone rang on a quiet Friday night, just before midnight, Jack almost jumped in his chair, the noise breaking the deadly silence of the empty building. No one ever called him so late unless there was a breakthrough in an ongoing investigation, so he didn't hesitate before picking up.

His breath caught in his throat when he recognized the voice that answered.

 “Jack?”

It was weak but unmistakable.

“Will?”

The last time Jack heard of Will Graham was the Tooth Fairy’s murder, almost five years ago. His blood was all over the crime scene, but there had been no trace of him or Hannibal. When Hannibal had resurfaced in the form of various murders all across the world, there had been nothing to indicate that Will had been with him. Jack had mourned Will, was still mourning. Will had been… important to him, in a way - an invaluable element of his team. At some point, he might even have considered him a friend.

“I’m… Somewhere North, on the coast.” Will paused, took a deep breath. “Near Boston, I think. I need... “ His voice wavered.

Jack’s brain was spinning, his hands already typing frantically on his mobile phone, getting a team ready.

“Are you hurt?”, he asked.

“... Yes, but nothing critical. I can… I’ll find a better location. I can’t stay here too long.”

Immediately, the question was burning on Jack’s tongue, but he bit it to stop himself from saying it out loud. His guts told him he didn’t have to ask it, he already knew the answer: this had something to do with Hannibal.

“We’ll come get you.” He said instead, and shared his plan with Will.

 

* * *

 

     There was something - the colors of the streets, the presence of water, the hum of life and movement, the sea of anonymous bodies - about Baltimore that made Will’s heart swell with familiarity and warmth. He had never particularly liked the city, never wanted to live there, but it had been a big part of his life for years and somehow, he had missed it.

The car that took him to the hospital, and the agent who drove it, were nondescript. He didn't know the agents charged with protecting him and they didn't want to make conversation, which he was grateful for. They probably knew enough already. He was a person of interest for the FBI; probably more so since his "disappearance".

Jack had told him, when he picked him up in Boston, how things had - or hadn’t - changed. The Hannibal Lecter investigation was still ongoing, with bodies discovered every few months, usually in different countries. Will hadn’t said anything then, just nodded when Jack had asked, eyes soft and tone reassuring, if this was Hannibal’s doing.

Will hadn’t lied when he said that his wounds hadn’t been critical. His wrists had been bleeding from the metal of the handcuffs, and he’d broken his thumb to get out of them, he had a few bruises and cuts on his face, he was sleep deprived and slightly malnourished, but he knew that a few days of rest would do the trick.

There had been medics with Jack and the agents charged to retrieve him, and they had done a temporary job until he was back in Baltimore to get a proper check up. Jack hadn’t wanted him to stay in Boston for too long, if Hannibal was looking for him there it was too dangerous.

 

Will didn’t tell him that Hannibal would have left as soon as he noticed Will was gone. It had been too predictable to call Jack, Will knew, but he didn’t have anyone else to call.

 

* * *

 

     Will woke up to bright hospital lights and a familiar face standing over him.

“Hello Jack.” He coughed and Jack immediately handed him the glass of water with a straw on his bedside table.

“How are you feeling?” Jack asked, dragging a chair next to the bed and settling down in it.

“Tired but… Alive.”

Jack hesitated.

“It’s… I won’t lie to you Will, I’m surprised to see you alive. We all assumed that you had died, either after Dolarhyde’s death or later by Hannibal’s hand.”

“That’s a sound conclusion to make, I don’t blame you for not looking for me, Jack, I never did.”

That wouldn’t stop Jack’s guilt, but Will still wanted to say it. Jack’s smile was weak and apologetic.

“Will, I want to let you know that the Hannibal Lecter investigation is still active. You are being treated as a victim and a witness. I don’t want to push you, but you’ll need to be interviewed soon. I can put two and two together, and I’m guessing that you have been with Hannibal for the past 4 years. It’s the best lead we’d had for a while and I think this time, we can get him for good.”

Will stayed silent for a moment, considering. He knew that Jack’s focus would always be on the case, that the case would come first before everything else; somehow he had forgotten how determined Jack could be. He smiled.

“Of course. I want to help. I will.”

“Thank you, Will.”

“No Jack, thank you. I didn’t think… I never thought I would be there again.”

“It’s good to have you back.” Jack replied, and Will could see that he meant it.

 

* * *

 

     Seeing Will back in Quantico brought Jack years back. It was strange and familiar at the same time, a place where Will had been a fixture for so long, yet never really belonged.

He walked with Will to the interrogation room where he would give his first testimony. Jack didn’t doubt that it would take many more before they got the whole story. The doctors who were taking care of Will had told him that his trauma was more severe than it looked. He slept fitfully, and sometimes during the days he would gaze at nothing and wouldn’t reply when spoken to.

Still, Will had insisted to help as soon as possible.

And somehow, seeing him there, with Price and Zeller, it almost made Jack hopeful. He thought he had lost everything to Hannibal, but Will was alive and this time, Jack wasn’t letting him go anywhere.

 

* * *

 

    Alana had to use all her self control to not rush into the room. When she had received Jack’s call, she hadn’t hesitated before jumping into the Vergers’ private jet and getting to Baltimore, a city she had promised herself she would never set a foot in again. But Will was alive, and clearly a victim of Hannibal’s, and she had to see him. Talk to him. Have proof that this wasn’t just a terrible dream.

She opened the door and Will smiled at her. He looked worn, tired, older. Their eyes met and for a moment, Will’s eyes looked different than she remembered. Maybe it was the dark circles under them, but she felt the strength of his gaze as she moved across the room to sit across the table in front of him. There was something cold and discerning behind his pupils that struck her, and for a moment, she was overwhelmed with the weight of what he must have suffered.

 

Jack was standing next to Will, and he waited until she was seated to speak.

“Alana, thank you for coming so quickly.”

“Thank you for calling me, Jack.” She turned to will and smiled softly. “Will, it’s good to see you.”

“You are another face I didn’t expect to see again, Alana. I didn’t expect you to come.”

“Will, through everything that happened, I have always been your friend.” She spoke softly, leaning forward toward Will.

“And I’m thankful for it.”

“Alana has agreed to provide support and counselling for you during this investigation. The testimonies you’ll have to give won’t be easy, and we thought it would be more comfortable for you if you had someone who knew what happened before at your side.”

Will turned to look at Jack, his eyes wide, clearly surprised, but didn't say anything. Alana expected him to refuse, argument against it. In the past, Will would never have accepted this kind of help, especially not coming from her. After just a few words, she could see how the past four years had changed Will.

She thought Will could never be truly broken, but Hannibal had finally proved her wrong.

 

* * *

 

     In the silence of the hotel room, Will couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about the agents positioned in the rooms around his. He was a target, he knew. He had told Jack and Alana as much earlier that day. They had reacted as he expected: humanely, with compassion. They heard ‘target’ and they thought of themselves, of their own fear, and they saw it mirrored on Will’s face.

“Hannibal will be looking for me. He’ill know this is the only place I could go to.”

“If you ask for it, we will put you in the witness protection program Will.” Jack replied. “Your testimony is important but you don’t need to be here for the rest of the investigations, not until we catch him.”

“No.” Will shook his head. “I want to be there. I… Jack, I need to. I need to.” He could feel his eyes burning, his fingers shaking slightly. He could see Jack’s retort crumble as he spoke the next words. “If I don’t see this til the end, I will never get away from him.” Then he added, barely a whisper, “Please.”

 

The interview started with Jack giving him all the information they had, everything they had been able to understand from his wounds, his scars, and the trails of bodies left by Hannibal.

The handcuffs had scarred his wrists with rugged white lines, from too many hours of pulling on the metal. Some lines were still red and rough, the most recent ones, although not bleeding openly anymore. His broken thumb was new too, but his fingernails were short and broken, and there were traces of blood underneath them. Some of it was Hannibal’s. Most was Will’s. There were bite marks on his shoulders, and bruises on his neck. The scar on his cheek had been hidden by his beard for a while, but he had shaved that morning and now it was clearly visible, distorted and ugly. The one on his neck had healed cleanly, but he couldn’t hide it, not even among all the bruises.

There were more scars, some from Dolarhyde and some older. They had been all documented for the purpose of incriminating Hannibal more, and Will had felt raw and exposed as the pictures had been taken.

Still, his determination to see this through never faltered. It was the plan, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

     “Let’s start with the most recent, Will. What happened before you escaped from Hannibal later. What do you remember?”

Alana was asking the questions, but Will knew Jack was standing behind the glass, watching. He didn’t turn to look in his direction, his eyes focused instead on his hands, which he was holding tightly in front of him.

“I remember…” he trailed off. He remembered….

He remembered the familiarity of the cold metal of the cuffs against his skin.

He remembered silence around him, the noise of the city disappearing between the walls the hotel room. He remembered lips on his fingers. Soft. Tender.

He remembered hunger, thirst, desperation. Pain as he forced his thumb backward, how weak he felt as he stumbled outside the room and ran, and ran, and ran.

 

What he said was:

“He was gone for longer than usual. Three days, I think. I don’t know. I couldn’t move and he… He would never leave me alone for too long. Before I mean. He always tied me up me when he had to leave me alone, but he was never gone for more than a few hours.”

He paused, took a drink from the glass of water Alana had given him, then continued.

“When I was confident I was far enough that he wouldn’t find me immediately if I stopped, I called Jack. I didn’t know I still remembered that number but… It’s the first number I thought of. I didn’t have time to think.”

“We were in hotel rooms, in flats he rented by the week, sometimes isolated houses. We didn’t take the plane more than necessary. He got cars sometimes, expensive ones, and we’d spent days on the road.”

“After Dolarhyde, it took us days to heal enough to move anywhere. We stayed in an empty beach house, and I was so weak he didn’t even have to restrain me.”

“First, we went to South America. Then China, Indonesia, India I think… We went through a lot of countries in a short time, before we arrived in Europe. It wasn’t until we arrived in Greece that I realized he was still killing.” Will said, voice cold, eyes looking down, away.   

“How did you realize?”

“He showed me.”

There were pictures on the table between them, which Will had requested. It was the body in Venice, the third one he remembered. Alana didn’t look at them.

“What happened then?”

“He made me… watch.” He stopped himself, drummed his fingers on the table as he thought. “No, not watch. He made me bear witness.”

“Bear witness, what do you mean by that?”

“I had already seen the result of his… work. And I understood it, in the way I can understand these things. But there was a distance there, when I did… I saw myself as him, not him in the act. For him, me seeing him, truly, was important.”

It was hard, explaining his empathy, and even harder explaining it regarding to Hannibal. Whether it had been the Copycat or the Chesapeake Ripper, analyzing the crime scenes had always been different than any other.  The Wendigo was a vision Will could never forget. Will didn’t have the words to describe it, so he didn’t attempt to.

Alana urged him to continue with her hand, after a brief glance at the tinted glass.

“I lost track of time quite often. Sometimes we would spend days locked in wherever we were staying, sometimes we would spend days on the road. He was… physical with me, but he never hurt me badly. I never thought he’d kill me but I knew he’d kill many others if I ran away.”

His voice shook on the last words, and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. It was the same selfish need that had him staying in Baltimore, the one that had finally made him run, and that would cost many people their lives as Hannibal made his way back to him. Will wanted to be free, and to be safe, and in the end those desires had won against his wish to keep other people safe. He was done sacrificing himself for other people’s sakes.

He didn’t have a doubt Hannibal would find him, and he had told so to Jack and Alana.

“We know, Will,” Jack had replied, “And while I don’t want to actively use you as bait, the fact that your presence here will attract him put us in an advantage in this investigation for this first time in years.”

Will hadn’t protested. 

 

* * *

 

     After a few weeks, Will got an apartment in the city center. It was small and smelled slightly of mold, but it was more comfortable than the hotel room. The FBI agents still followed him, and he was rarely left alone. Still, they tried to give him a minimum of privacy, which explained why they weren’t immediately by his side when he discovered the body.

 

He met with Alana for coffee, something she insisted they do at least once a week to ensure they saw each other in places that weren’t Quantico or a hospital, and to help Will get used to the normal world again, and had decided to walk back to his flat.

Alana had her own bodyguards and spent as little time as possible in Baltimore, and Will appreciated the risks she took to support him. Life had made her colder and pragmatic, but she was still a good, loving person.

The smell of blood reached him before he could open the building's door. After a pause, he opened it carefully, and as the sun illuminated the hallway, he saw it.

A woman was strung up from the ceiling above the stairs. Blood covered her body like a red robe and dripped on the floor beneath her, forming a growing puddle. Her chest was open and her heart was missing, and on her head, there was a crown of Narcissus.

Everything was completely still, not a breath of air to move the stained fabric, except for the slow drops of blood that kept falling silently. The body was illuminated from behind, a yellow-ish light coming from the staircase window turning everything warm and projecting long shadows on the walls.

Will didn’t know how long he spent staring at it, but after a moment he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find Alana, looking visibly distressed. He didn’t remember calling her, so he assumed his FBI escort did. She met his eyes and stayed silent, dropping her hand by her side. When she turned to exit the building, Will didn’t follow her.

 

* * *

 

When Alana had gotten the call from one of the agent trailing Will as she was driving back to her hotel, she had hesitated for a good minute between running as far away as possible and coming to help him. In the end, Jack’s following call had convinced her, but she was still shaking on her way to the building.

Will couldn’t be alright, she knew.

From what Jack had said, the murder was clearly Hannibal’s, and very probably a message to Will. So soon after his escape, Will would still be vulnerable.

Alana was certain that Will suffered from some form of trauma bonding. Will was adamant that he wanted Hannibal caught, but there was no anger when he talked about him, no fear either. Will describe his imprisonment in a cold, purely factual manner, which was a common way to deal with trauma and not surprising coming from Will, but it didn’t mean being put in front of a crime scene created by his abuser was fine.

She called out to Will and put his hand on his shoulder when she reached him, a gesture she wanted comforting. The agents had told her he had been standing there for several minutes, since before she got the call, and they couldn’t get him to snap out of whatever he was thinking about. He turned when she touched him though, and the look on his face made her drop her hand.

Will, since he had reappeared, was the shell of his former self, even of himself during the Tooth Fairy investigation. But in that very moment, as he looked at her, Alana could see a brightness in his eyes she didn’t remember ever witnessing, there was something alive spinning in the darkness of his pupils, and although his face didn’t convey any particular emotion, she felt as though his gaze could touch and understand everything.

She offered will a few reassuring words, assured him of her support if he need it then turned away and exited the building. The smell of blood, the nauseating presence of the body, Will, it was all too much.

Will didn’t come out of the building until Jack arrived, and in that time she wondered if what she had seen in Will’s eyes was unsettling because of how familiar it was : Will as an investigator, using his empathy to profile a killer. But there was also the possibility it had been something entirely new, the result of four years spent by Hannibal’s side.

She glanced at Will’s hands and noticed that they were shaking quite visibly, but from what, she couldn’t tell.

 

* * *

 

     Fifteen minutes ago, when Jack had arrived, Will had been standing in front of the body, his eyes closed, his fists clenched and a small smile on his face, giving him an air of satisfaction and pride that didn’t belong there.

The shock of seeing Will in such a familiar position had knocked the breath out of Jack’s lungs. For a moment, Will looked as he had years ago, when he worked for the FBI, before the shitshow with Hannibal. A small part of Jack wished he could grab the Will of then and force him to stay as far away from the FBI, Baltimore and Hannibal as possible, but only a small part.

In the present, he had only been able to put a hand on Will’s shoulder to shake him out of his trance and push him slowly toward the medics.

 

“I’m sorry Jack. Bad habit.” Will said before bring the cup of coffee to his lips. He was sitting behind an ambulance, a blanket draped over his shoulders.

“You don’t have to apologize Will. This is my fault, I should have had more security on you, shouldn’t have let you walk into a situation like this.” Will insisted he wouldn’t leave Baltimore, but Jack had more reasons to push against it now.

Will shook his head.

“No. You couldn’t predict this, or that I’d be the one to find the body. I decided I won’t hide, I can’t stop living until he’s caught, Jack.”

Jack sighed. He had many things he wanted to tell Will about his recklessness - taking a flat in the city, going out regularly - , about him being the victim there and being allowed a break; but he had a body to deal with, and an investigation to run, and he could already hear his team calling for him.

“We’ll talk about this again, Will. In the meantime, take care of yourself. Speak with Alana.” He paused. “I’m sorry you had to see this.”

Will waited a few seconds before replying.

“I would always have seen it. Hannibal made it for me, after all.”

Jack swallowed slowly. There was something unsteady in Will’s voice, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. Fear? Disgust? It sounded all wrong.

“It’s a message.” Jack said, instead of what he really wanted to ask - what Will meant by those words.

“Of course it is.” Will smiled, small and defeated, before returning his attention to his coffee. Finally, Jack couldn’t ignore his team any longer, and he marched toward the building.

 

* * *

 

    The body made the news. Of course it did. It was no surprised that the pictures first appeared on Tattlecrime. The past years had made Freddie Lounds quite famous - thanks to the never-ending case of the Chesapeake Ripper - , with her website staying active as she reported on Hannibal’s continuous crimes, and a book which ranked first in the NYT bestsellers list every time a new body was discovered.

It surprised Will that it took so long for Freddie to find out he was alive and back in Baltimore. He guessed that for once, the FBI had done its job, but he supposed they couldn’t hide him away forever.

It wasn’t a surprise, however, when she appeared outside the supermarket where he was buying groceries the day after the murder.

 

“Will.” She said, smiling warmly. “It’s been a while.”

“It hasn’t been long enough.” Will replied coldly, walking past her. Physically, she hadn’t changed at all, but he imagined success had made her even more cunning. He decided to cut the chase immediately. “What do you want?”

“Well,” she started walking next to Will. “You can imagine it came as quite a surprise to see you alive, and considering who you disappeared with, it’s in the public’s interest to know what happened to you. I have a few questions that I’d like to’-”

“No.” Will interrupted her. He didn’t stop walking. “I just escaped from Hannibal Lecter. This is not happening.” He shook his head. “I’m not letting you give him information so he can take me back.”

Freddie didn’t miss a beat. “He already found you, from what I heard.”

“Heard, or seen?” Will snorted. “I’ve seen the picture, you still have no decency.”

“The people have a right to know Hannibal the Cannibal is back in their town.”

“And as always, you think you are the person to deliver the news, not the police.”

“They will hear about you soon enough, and then, they might not all take the time to come to you to get the real story. People are easy to assume things.”

Will could hear the threat in her voice, he had to use all his self control not to laugh at her.

“I’m not talking to you, Freddie. Now if you could fuck off so I can go home…”

She abruptly stopped and looked around her. They were almost back to the supermarket. Her eyes widened and this time, Will laughed openly.

“You didn’t think I’d let you find out where I’m staying, did you?”

A nondescript car stopped next to him and the door opened to reveal the FBI agents assigned to him. Without waiting for a reply, he climbed inside.

As the car drove away, he glanced in the rearview mirror to see Freddie still standing where he left her, obviously fuming. He didn’t stop the smirk from forming on his lips.

He also wasn’t surprised by the next day headline : “Will Graham alive : confirms Hannibal the Cannibal is back in town!”

 

* * *

 

    “The Victim is Mary Parkson. She moved to Baltimore two years ago for her job.” Jack placed a picture on the table in front of Will - the portrait of a smiling young woman. “She has no obvious link to you or Hannibal, but we’re hoping you might recognize her.”

Will shook his head and burrowed deeper in his sofa. Jack sat in front of him in a shabby armchair Will had found on craigslist, like most of his furniture.

There had been several formal interviews at the FBI’s headquarters following the discovery of the body. Will had shared what he’d understood thanks to his empathy, falling back into his profiler habits with an ease he hadn’t expected, but he hadn’t been of much help.

 

“Isn’t it obvious? Hannibal is here, he knows where I am and he isn’t afraid of you.” Will had said. “It’s the same as always, Hannibal is playing his little games and we’re all just pawns.”

“I know that! I know!” Jack had said, frustration permeating his words. “What I want - what I need to know is his end goal. What does he want, Will? To kill you or to get you back alive?”

Will hadn’t been able to contain a snort. “Your guess is as good as mine here.”

Jack had let out a long, defeated breath.

 

Jack hadn’t offered witness protection to Will again, hadn’t even mentioned leaving Baltimore. He’d doubled Will’s security detail, of course, but Will had seen the moment he had stopped being a simple victim in Jack’s eyes.

Some things never changed, and Will had never thought Jack wouldn’t get him more involved than necessary at some point. The investigation would always be Jack’s priority, above everything else.

He didn’t talk to Jack about it, didn’t complain; he was certain that Jack didn’t even realize he was acting as he had all those years ago, that he thought he was finally protecting Will, doing what he should have done before any of them ever suspected Hannibal. It was too late for that, and unnecessary.

As Jack spread the pictures of the crime scene next to the portrait of the victim, Will let out a small sigh of satisfaction, knowing he was exactly where he needed to be.


	3. Chapter 3

     Alana welcomed Will into the office that had been allocated to her in the Quantico headquarters, for their usual weekly meeting. It wasn’t therapy exactly, but it was helping. They had been friends once, and Will had preferred having 'conversations' with her rather than some unknown therapist.

It had been three months since Will had reappeared, and a month since the discovery of Mary Parkson’s body, after which Alana had asked Jack for the space, intent on limiting her time in Baltimore as much as possible. She had stopped meeting with Will casually as well, although she made sure she called him regularly

She felt guilty, of course, she knew Will didn’t have any other friends in the city and that he was unlikely to socialize with new people in his current situation, but Margot had pleaded with her to take less risks, and Alana only had to think of her child to agree.

The meetings - to her initial surprise - were rarely about what Will had experienced while he was Hannibal’s captive. Instead, they talked about how to deal with trauma, how to learn to live again, how to be himself again.

Will was always calm during the meetings, seemingly completely in control; he spoke softly, carefully and although he had lost nothing of his dry humor and cold honesty, there was no doubt the past four years had changed him in a profound way.

Alana remembered Will as she first met him, rough, awkward and so bright, she remembered him after the Hobbs case, after Hannibal was revealed as the monster he is, she remembered Will broken and alone, and more she remembered the regret and the guilt she felt at the time. She had made a promise to herself to never be Will’s therapist, but seeing how that had ended, she felt better now knowing Will’s brain was in no other hands but hers.

  
She wasn’t stupid, she knew that while she never stopped considering Will a friend, there was a distance between them, created by necessity and survival, and the guilt she first felt all those years ago would probably never leave her fully. She tried not to think about it too much, but she couldn’t ignore that a part of her was helping Will to atone for  her past mistakes.

She remembered seeing Will again, after those three years away from the FBI. It had been strange at first, seeing how little he had changed, it was almost like they’d been back to the Minnesota Shrike case. But, slowly, the shifts became more visible and now more than ever, Alana wished they’d never taken Will away from his wife and child and thrown him back into Hannibal’s waiting arms.

It was this thought that brought her to ask her next question.

“Have you heard back from Molly?”

Will, who had been looking out a window to his left, turned back to look at her and nodded.

“She replied earlier this week. We won’t talk again, I think”

Molly had filed for divorce two years after Will had disappeared. She had moved to the West Coast, taking her son and Will’s dogs with her. It was Alana who had advised Will to contact her, before she could learn about his reappearance in the papers or through unreliable sources (most likely, Freddie Lounds).

The letter had been short and polite, crafted with Alana’s help, Will thanking her for their time together, apologizing for the trouble and wishing her all the best.

“Did she say anything that made you uncomfortable?” Alana asked.

“No.” Will replied, turning to look through the window again. “She sent proof of the divorce, in case I ever need it. Her reply was short but sincere. She said there’s no need to apologize for anything, and she thanked me.”

“Does it make you sad? That you won’t get another chance with her?”

Will smiled softly. “No, Alana, you know I don’t want that. We already talked about it when I contacted her first. I’m not sad, I’m happy for her, that she stayed strong and kept on living after I was gone.”

Alana could sense a “but” at the end of Will’s words. She waited a few seconds to see if he would keep talking. When he said nothing, she pressed him on.

“But what do you feel about yourself?

“I feel… relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“Yes. She’s safe from me.”

“Will…” Alana started. This was one thing they never talked about when mentioning Molly. “You didn’t hurt her, you have to know that.”

“No.” Will smiled again, but his eyes were sad, empty. “Never directly.”

“What Hannibal did, what Francis Dolarhyde did, wasn't your fault. In all this, you are the victim, you have to remember that.”

“But my presence by her side put a target on her back, from the beginning. I knew that as long as Jack was at the FBI, as long as Hannibal was imprisoned in Baltimore, I’d get involved again. It lasted three years, it could have been more, it could have been less. In the end, Molly also loved the part of me that caught murderers, but she couldn't anticipate the real risks.”

“No one could, Will. This was still not your fault. Molly is an adult woman, she loved you and she made her own choices. She doesn’t blame you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“It’s not that easy.” Will replied. Alana knew it wasn’t, but it was her job to remind Will of this as often as necessary. She told so to Will.

“Guilt is a complex emotion, but with time, and with help, you can get past it.”

Will stayed silent for several long seconds, looking thoughtful, before he looked straight into Alana’s eyes and spoke.

“There are times however, when the guilt is fully deserved.”

Alana was taken aback by the sudden eye contact and the harshness of Will’s words. She frowned, confused about what those words designed exactly.

“Yes, of course, but it isn’t the case here.” She replied carefully, the sentence ending almost like a question despite herself.

“Maybe.” Will said, looking away from Alana, his face softening.

It was clearly time to take the conversation in another direction, but Alana found herself coming up with nothing. She used the silence as an excuse to glance at her watch and was glad to see that they were already five minutes over the time their meeting was supposed to end.

“We’ll continue this next week.” She declared, standing up. “If there’s any subject you want to talk about then, bring them up at the beginning of the meeting.”

Will stood up and they walked to the door. Alana opened it for him. Before he could leave, she spoke again.

“I know this isn’t easy for you, but you’re making real progress. I’m glad you’ve accepted help.”

Will smiled at her. He smiled more since he came back, but it was always this small, wistful smile that never reached his eyes. Alana didn’t know what to think of it.

“And I’m grateful to you for accepting to help me, Alana. I’ll see you next week.”

He walked away before Alana could reply. She closed the door slowly behind him and went back to her chair, taking her phone from where it was lying on the desk before sitting down.

Every meeting with Will left her more exhausted each time, as if Will was becoming harder to read, more confusing as time went time. There were more and more moments were his smile or his eyes showed something she’d never seen on him before, and which she didn’t understand.

Obviously, the past four years with Hannibal had changed him, but it seemed to Alana that no one could really say how.

She sighed and wished she could had a drink. She wasn’t going home until the following morning, and Jack probably has alcohol in his office. Idly, she wondered if he’d be willing to share. She opened her phone and called him.

 

* * *

 

    Will dreamed of Hannibal every night. He dreamed of his eyes, dark and burning; his teeth, rasping against skin; his hands, large and rough and powerful. He dreamed he couldn’t move and Hannibal was everywhere, surrounding him. There was no escape and Will was drowning, deeper and deeper…

 

Will woke up with a gasp. His sheets were drenched with sweat, something that hadn’t happened for years before he came back and which he hadn’t missed. He took a few deep breaths before pushing the sheets off him and getting out of bed.

The orange light passing through the blind in his new room told him it was still early in the morning. He yawned and headed to the kitchen in order to find coffee.

Will didn’t need a lot of sleep to function but these days he tried to sleep as much as he could. When he was sleeping, he wasn’t thinking and thus he wasn’t getting bored. Freedom was nice, but until the whole mess with Hannibal was resolved, he wasn’t exactly free. While the FBI didn’t have him on house arrest, Will still wasn’t allowed to go many places, or do many things, for his own safety.

He couldn’t work, didn’t have anyone to hang out with outside of Jack and Alana, and any activity he could consider would have to involve his FBI escort. He’d considered going fishing, but Jack had immediately opposed the idea when Will had mentioned it, explaining how exposed he would be in the outdoors.

So Will had started reading any books he could get his hands on, and waiting for Jack or Alana to call him. It all felt like a never-ending game of waiting.

Today though, Will had plans.

 

The Baltimore Museum of Art had nothing that made it special, different from any other museum. It would had been boring to Will if he had come to look at the paintings. His FBI escorts was, as it had become usual, following him from a few feet away, so Will still took his time strolling through the room, glancing around as if he was observing at the art. He didn’t stop in front of any piece though, not until he found the one he was looking for.

Will didn’t know the title of the painting, or even the name of the artist, but he remembered perfectly the sketch Hannibal had done of it a few years before. It was a small painting, a bit to the side, inconspicuous among the grander works, not many people stopping to look at it.

It was a dark still life, representing two plates, one full of cherries and the other of strawberries. Surrounding the plates, three tall, elegant glasses, their shapes only discernible through the reflection of light against the dark background. One has an intricately carved metal feet, beautiful yet dull, almost blending against the painted table it rests on. In front of the plates, a dragonfly - still, simply taking a break from flight, or, possibly, dead.

The painting was warm yet uninviting, the table and objects disappearing into the obscurity of the background, the stillness of the scenes made only stronger by the immobile dragonfly. It seemed that everything was simply waiting to be engulfed by darkness.

Will thought it was almost peaceful.

 

There was a bench in the middle of room, and Will eyed it for a second before deciding against sitting on it, even though he was starting to feel a bit tired. It would have brought back to many memories of his time in Florence. Will could imagine how, if he ever sat on a bench in a museum again, he would feel Hannibal’s presence at his side, always.

The thought made him shiver, and he glanced at the bench again, reconsidering, when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He took it out and saw Jack’s name blink on the screen. Quickly, he turned around and immediately met the eye of one of the agent, who was also holding a phone in her hand. Anticipation filled Will’s mind as he opened the text, the possibilities endless. It could be another body, or they could have caught Hannibal…

Will read the text.

_“I’m sorry to deliver bad news but a body was found in the staircase of your apartment building. Call me a soon as you can.”_

Will had just moved into that flat following the finding of the first body. He rushed out of the museum and called Jack.

“I’m coming.” He said instead of a greeting.

“No, I’m sending agents to you.” Jack answered immediately. “We’ll meet back at Quantico.”

“I wasn’t a proposition, Jack. I’m on my way.”

There was a pause and Will could easily imagine Jack’s interior struggle. Protect Will by keeping him away, or let him use his talents at the crime scene.

Will could almost here Jack’s resignation when he spoke again.

“How long will you be?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Fine. Come to me when you’re there.”

Will hung up and hailed a taxi. He’d walked to the museum, but a leisurely stroll through town didn’t match the urgency of the situation. Two agents got in after him, helpfully showing the driver their badges to encourage him to speed up.

Will clenched his hands over his knees while the vehicle accelerated, mind already buzzing with the prospect of what visions awaited him. If Hannibal had gone through the trouble of getting into Will’s building, Will was sure that he had put on a show.

 

* * *

 

     There were two bodies facing each other.

 

The first one was kneeling on the stairs, the other standing above it. The body kneeling had its back cut open, the skin removed to show muscle and bone, blood trickled down the skin to the stairs, leaving a small puddle under the knees of the victim. The second body presented the same kind of cut, but on the chest, and the lungs were missing. The skin had been removed from both faces, leaving a raw, bloody mess. Both bodies were held up in position by fishing wire tied to the handrail and large hooks in the walls.

It was less monumental than some of the Ripper’s killings, but the attention to detail was evident. It was not devoid of meaning but what that meaning was, Jack had no idea.

There was no doubt it was a message to Will, but despite all that had happened, Jack still couldn’t say if Hannibal meant to kill Will, or to take him back.

He was distracted from his observation of the crime scene by the noise of someone coming up behind him. He turned around to find a young agent who immediately informed him that Will Graham had arrived while purposely avoiding looking at the bodies. Jack followed the agent out and searched for Will in the crows of officers, FBI agents and curious bystanders.

He found Will standing next to an FBI van, looking up to the facade of the building like it could disappear to reveal the crime scene at any moment. His eyes were wide, dark, and his hands were limp at his sides, palms open, fingers slack. His head turned toward Jack when he saw him approach, but he didn’t move.

“The victims are males, white, middle aged. We don’t have ID yet.”

“There’s more than one?” Will asked, his voice weak, almost a whisper in the cacophony around them. Jack took a deep breath. He wanted to bring Will inside as soon as possible and get his opinion on the scene, but he had to remember that this was Will’s place, and that he shouldn’t push him too hard. He could give him a little time to calm down before he took him inside.

“Two. They’re in the stairwell, one is kneeling, the other is standing above him. Their faces were skinned which is why it’s taking longer than usual to identify them.”

“Oh.” Will said, looking away from Jack to the ground.

“I know it’s a shock, and it’s worrying that Hannibal got so close to you again, but I need you to be strong, Will. I need you to look at the scene and tell me what you see.”

Will huffed, a small smile appearing on his lips but not reaching his eyes.

“I know Jack. I want to help. I’ll do my best.” He still sounded shaken, but his shoulders straightened and his eyes took a determined glint. Jack had to stop himself from sighing in relief. His patience became shorter everyday that Hannibal wasn’t caught.

They headed for the entrance of the building side by side.

 

* * *

 

     After the two bodies were discovered, the search for Hannibal turned into a true manhunt, with agents from out of town coming in to help. Will, after spending a few days in a hotel, had moved back in his apartment. He insisted that moving a second time wouldn’t keep Hannibal away from him, and that the FBI was already doing all they could to protect him. It was a lie, of course, the FBI could have sent Will away, into witness protection, but they knew - Jack most of all - that if they ever wanted to catch Hannibal, they needed Will.

These days, there was a constant air of danger lingering over the city, and Will knew he was exactly where he needed to be. The tension was growing everyday, and he could almost feel the completion of the whole affair approaching fast, and it made his blood burn in veins and his hands shake with impatience. He felt like he’d been living in a temporal bubble since he came back from Baltimore, and was waiting for it to burst so he could keep on living his life as he wanted.

His FBI escort had been doubled, and his movements further restricted. Things as simple as grocery shopping became troublesome when they had to include five very obvious federal agents.

Will, however, had not stopped going to the museum. A few days after the bodies had been discovered, he’d gone back, this time enjoying an entire afternoon there.

He’d explained to Alana that museums were a place where he could clear his mind, when he didn’t have the opportunity to go fishing. The crowd of people that came and went were like ghosts, never paying attention to each other, only to the paintings, and Will could disappear among them, drowning the whisper of voices and the slam of footsteps echoing in the large room.

He hadn’t told Alana how he used to dislike this kind of places, how they had made him feel surrounded, exposed, too overwhelmed to appreciate the art on the wall. How they now reminded him of Hannibal, in more way than one, but mostly of how Hannibal had taught him to look at art and appreciate it truly, to take it for his own. He suspected she knew anyway.

Alana had become more distant, more careful with Will. She felt the danger too, he knew, and was conflicted between her desire for safety and her need to do good and be there for Will. During their recent appointments, she had tried to make him talk about Hannibal and what he did to Will, and every time Will brushed off the question and moved on to another subject. He could see her become more strained, the last strings of his relationship with her thinning and thinning. But there were some things he wasn’t ready to share yet, and, he suspected, that she wasn’t ready to hear.

 

The two victims found in his apartment's staircase were Nick Haynes, a 32 years old doctor from Chicago, and Jordan Aston, a 55 years old accountant from Baltimore. The two men weren’t linked together other than in death, and their identities hadn’t brought the FBI any closer to catching Hannibal.

Jack had decided that they had a been a mean for Hannibal to show Will their positions : Hannibal still thought of Will as under his control, underneath him. Will hadn’t disproved his assumptions. While a gross misunderstanding of Will and Hannibal’s relationship, it was, after all, not completely untrue. Will was intent, however, that this information didn’t find its way to Jack until the exact moment he meant it to.

He missed his dogs. It had been so long since he’d had a canine companion, it hadn’t been possible while he had been travelling with Hannibal of course, but he hoped to change that in the close future. For four years now Will had rarely been alone, and the solitude was starting to get to him. It was true what he had told the FBI, he had rarely spent more than a few hours away from Hannibal.

The thought of feeling lonely almost made him laugh. His past self, the one from before he met Hannibal, regaled in solitude. But there was, he had come to realize, an important difference between solitude and loneliness.

Will’s thoughts went to the two bodies again. He hadn’t been able to bring pictures of the crime scene home with him, and he deplored the fact. Surrounded by FBI agents, he hadn’t had the time to truly appreciated the vision. Hannibal’s creations had always been impressive, and this one had a meaning even deeper than the previous murder. It wasn’t only a message, it was a signal.

It was Will’s turn to play.


	4. Chapter 4

     “What do you mean it’s not Hannibal?” Jack gaped. It didn’t make sense, the crime had all the right elements, all the signs.

“It doesn’t feel like him.” Will sighed, “I don’t know what to tell you Jack. It seems entirely possible that a deranged copycat would appear after Hannibal’s presence in Baltimore was made public.”

“Just what I needed. Another psycho.”

Zeller and Price stood a few feet away from them, examining the body and pretending not to listen to their conversation. Jack gave them a cold look. He didn’t need their gossiping now.

To tell the truth, he had hesitated before calling Will. This murder didn’t seem, at first glance, directly related to him, other than the fact that it looked like Hannibal’s work. But after all those years, after all the mistakes he had made, there was an unconditional truth he couldn’t ignore : Will was still the best profiler he knew, and his trauma and closeness to the subject didn’t change that.

The investigation was running in circles. Jack had had excuses when Hannibal was running all over the world, but now that the chase was limited to Baltimore and its surroundings again, his higher ups were breathing down his neck. It had been almost six months and there still wasn’t any lead on Hannibal. It was an exercise in frustration, and the last thing he needed was a copycat.

“I’m grateful for your input Will, but until I have clear proof it’s not Hannibal, I will have to treat it as such. And if you’re right, there will be proof. No copycat could be as clinical as him.”

Will’s eyebrows raised, almost taunting.

“Well… I hope you’re right, but I wouldn’t dismiss this killer so quickly. If I hadn’t seen it in person, I wouldn’t have doubted it was Hannibal too. But his presence just isn’t there.”

Jack frowned. He definitely couldn’t put this in the official report without proof, but he knew better than to dismiss Will’s intuition. He took a moment to observe the body again.

It was set in an inconspicuous place, the edge of a small country road outside of Baltimore, barely hidden behind trees, just enough that it wouldn’t be visible at night.

It was a man, old, white and fat, tied to a large tree trunk with cheap rope that was darkened by blood. He had been gutted expertly, the content of his stomach lying at his feet, the cut drawing a long red smile on his flesh. His eyes had been taken out and put in his hands which were tied so that the palms looked up. There were a good dozen long nails stabbed in his legs and feet, and Jack had the horrible suspicion it had been done while the man was still alive.

In general, it seemed a bit simple for Hannibal, but the cruelty and precision of the murder hadn’t made Jack hesitate until Will had spoken.

What he couldn’t decipher was the meaning. If it wasn’t a message from Hannibal to Will, maybe it was a message from the murderer to Hannibal. But if so, what could it be? It didn’t replicate a previous murder or seemed reverent, like most copycat crimes.

Jack took a deep breath and was about to speak again when he spotted movement to his right. A mass of red and the click of a camera. Of course.

Jack turned away from the crime scene and gestured to his agents. A minute later, he was walking toward a surrounded Freddie Lounds who was clutching her camera against her chest. Will was following close behind and came to a stop in front of Freddie. They stayed silent as their eyes met, and the blank expression on Will’s face surprised Jack. He had noticed that Will was more comfortable with eye contact since he had reappeared, although he still avoided it most days, and when it happened it rarely lasted long. But here, he fixed Freddie’s eyes and didn’t look away, barely blinked.

Jack was ready to speak, but decided against it when he noticed Freddie’s composure waver under Will’s gaze. After a minute or so of staring, she was the first to look away. Jack glanced at Will and noted a small smirk appear on his lips. Before he could overthink it however, his attention was brought back to Freddie as she spoke to him.

“Sending you pet psycho to try and scare me now, Jack?”

She was trying to sound confident, but she was obviously distressed. It was Jack’s turns to smirk.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t insult my friend, who,  I might note, is a victim. It wouldn’t do good for your reputation if it were known to harass trauma victims now, wouldn’t it?”

“Is that a threat?”

“Do you need to be threatened? You’ve illegally entered a crime scene. Again. Cooperate and you can leave without handcuffs. Now, why don't you hand me your camera?”

Freddie clutched her camera tighter against her chest.

“Hand him the camera, Freddie.” Will finally spoke up.

She threw a quick look at him. His face was still impassive, eyebrows slightly raised, lips forming a tight line. She reluctantly handed the camera to Jack.

Freddie looked frustrated, and she knew her options were limited if she didn’t want to get arrested, but Jack knew her enough that she would never leave with nothing so he expected her to have questions. But he couldn’t anticipate their subject.

“You gotta give me something, Jack. I wanna know about Will Graham.” She waved her hand toward him carelessly, “How is he involved in all that mess? It looks like he’s more than just a victim to me. What do your superiors think about you bringing him in as a profiler again?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything, Freddie. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to deal with your camera. Come on Will.” He gestured to Will to follow him as he turned away, but Will shook his head.

“I’ll keep an eye on her.”

“Will…”

“Go on Jack, it won’t take a minute, I’ll make sure she doesn’t sneak away, and I won’t say anything… incriminating.”

Jack sighed, too tired to disagree. He nodded and went to look for someone who knew about fancy cameras.

 

“oh Freddie,” Will spoke up as soon as Jack was gone. He sounded almost fond. “You really haven’t changed at all, poking your nose in places you really shouldn’t.”

Freddie froze.

“The only thing we know for sure,” he continued, “is that Hannibal is after me, very likely to kill me. Until he’s caught, it might be a good idea to stay away. After all, we know he doesn’t like rude people, and politeness has never been your forte.”

“... what are you implying?”

“Concern for your safety.”

A bitter laugh came out of Freddie. “I don’t think you’ve ever been concerned for me, Will.”

“It’s been four years. I’ve changed.”

“That I don’t doubt, but I don’t think in that way.” She paused. “You’ve always been creepy Will, but you’ve reached new heights. I’ll find out whatever you’re hiding, trust me on this.”

She sounded determined, and it almost made Will laugh, but he kept himself in check.

“Oh I’m sure you will.”

 

* * *

 

      A new body appeared a week later, this one Hannibal’s creation. Of course, officially, the previous one was also Hannibal’s. There had been no traces of anyone else, so Jack had taken the bet that wouldn’t get him fired, even though Will could tell that his theory was still on his mind. The new body, an old woman, had been partially burned, and its brain had been taken out of its skull and exposed in a platter in front of it.

It had been found in the café Alana and Will used to meet.

Will had tried to reassure Alana that he was the target, not her, but it didn’t reduce her worries. She wasn’t comfortable spending time in Baltimore, and really, Will understood, he did, but she should know better. If -when- Hannibal wanted to get to her, he would.

They had talked about that, at length. After all, Alana had been someone important to both of them at some point in their lives.

It had been just a little over six months since Will had reappeared and the FBI seemed no closer to catching Hannibal as they had been before, despite his known presence in the city. Will was still considered a target and couldn’t work in a public space, less he put other people at risks. While his FBI escort had been reduced to one agent in a car in front of his building, his freedom was still limited, and so Will was bored.

“It’s been months, Jack. I’m going crazy being cooped up in the city like this! If he wanted to kill me, he’s had plenty time to do it already.”

Will pressed his phone between his ear and his shoulder while he busied his hands on his tools. He was going to go fishing soon, whether Jack liked it or not.

“No. I’m going next sunday, the weather should be great.” he continued, interrupting Jack’s protestations. “Listen, if you’re so worried for my safety, which I appreciate, you should come with me. You used to fish, right?”

Will knew the invitation would surprise Jack, but that he wouldn’t ’t question it. Will was desperate enough, even though fishing had always been a solitary activity for him, a way to clear his head, but for a chance to leave the city, he could bear with Jack’s company.

It took a few more minute to get Jack to grudgingly agree, but they were able to make plans for the weekend. Will hung up the phone, relieved. Finally, he was going to have his way.

 

* * *

 

     Early winter in Baltimore was colder than Alana remembered. It had been a month since the last time she had been in the city, and she had underestimated the weather. She pulled the collar of her coat against her neck as she exited the taxi that deposited her in front of Will’s apartment. They had talked only a few days ago thanks to the wonders of the internet, but whatsapp couldn’t entirely replace face to face appointments and she was still dedicated to helping Will.

The increase of the numbers, both in murder and in time, was worrying her of course. Hannibal, before he was discovered, killed rarely. He was prolific of course, but the crimes were spread on years, decades. That there had only been a week between the last two crimes was even more confusing. It had been two weeks since then, and she knew the FBI was ready to pounce. Jack hoped that it meant Hannibal was going to reveal himself soon, that he would slip up. Alana knew better.

She was surprised that after all these years, Jack was still blind to Hannibal’s true nature. He understood that he was a monster of course, but he couldn’t comprehend the capacity for cold calculation Hannibal possessed. She was trying to warn him, to avoid the mistakes of the past repeating. She still remembered clearly the moment she learned Hannibal had escaped, taking Will with him. She had screamed at Jack that this is what she had warned him against the first time, before Will was brought in as a consultant. She hadn’t thought back then that she’d ever see him alive again.

She couldn’t bear to lose Will to Hannibal again, to fail. Risking her life by showing up in Baltimore from time to time seemed a small price to pay.  

 

She knocked on Will’s door and was disconcerted by the call of “Come in, it’s open!”. She had expected Will to have triple locks on all the doors on the windows. Carefully, she entered the room and was immediately struck by the bareness of the space.

She had never been in his flat before, but she had imagined she would find something similar to his old house : old and rustic, a mismatch of styles that somehow managed to look comfortable. His current apartment still had that old, cheap atmosphere, and the limited furniture and objects could be attributed to the fact that he had come back to nothing, but there was a sense of order and tidiness that she would never had thought to associate with Will.

What caught her eye most was a large print hung above the sofa. It was the only thing on the walls, and clearly visible from the doorway. Alana immediately recognized Saint Sebastian, but she didn’t know this specific representation. Cut under the groin, the painting was quite dark, a stormy sky barely visible behind the Saint. His body was curled in an almost sensual manner, with no blood dripping from the two arrows, and his face was peaceful,  his lips almost forming a smile.

It reminded her so strongly of Hannibal she almost took a step back. Will, who was making coffee in the open kitchen area, turned and smiled at her.

“Alana, thank you for coming. How are you?”

Alana was silent for a moment because she thought to reply.

“I’m doing good, thank you Will. What about you?” As she spoke, she moved into the room and closed the door behind her. She felt strangely trapped, the wall were a dark grey, and the only window was covered by light blue curtains that filtered the early winter light. One lamp hung low from the ceiling, turning the shadows almost purple.

Will gestured to her coat then to a chair, she took it off and put it on the back of the chair before sitting down. Will brought two cups of coffee before sitting on the opposite side of the table.

“Your flat is not what I expected.” Alana said. She took in the silence. “No dogs rushing into me and slobbering on my clothes.” She laughed.

Will smiled wistfully. “Unfortunately no, I can’t take care of an animal right now.” He paused. “Did you think it would look like wolftrap?”

Alana didn’t reply.

“I haven’t lived on my own in a long time. And I’ve never lived in the city. I don’t think I could make this space look like wolftrap even if I wanted to.”

“You don’t want to?” Alana asked.

“No. Too much has changed since I’ve lived there.” Will replied. He didn’t sound regretful.

Alana didn’t want to mention Hannibal so early in their conversation. Their appointments were less formal than normal, but she was still a professional, and she knew it was important to let Will bring up difficult subjects by himself. There was also the risk that if she were to talk about him first, her feelings about Hannibal would overwhelm her and she wouldn’t be able to help Will. Despite the years that passed, the betrayal and disgust never went away and the fear was only growing.

Bonding trauma was something she had mentioned to Jack just after Will was found, and as more time went by, she felt comforted in her idea. The flat itself showed his influence, and there was a huge chance that Will wasn’t ever aware of it.

“You’ve been living here for a few months, right?” She asked, “Has Jack visited?”

“Not yet, it’s too out of his way, but he’s stopping by tomorrow. I’ve finally convinced him to let me go fishing, and he’s agreed to come with me.”

“You don’t mind his company?”

“No, I appreciate spending time with my friends when I can. You never know when it’ll end.”

“What do you mean by it? Life?” Again, she stopped herself from mentioning Hannibal. Will didn’t look like he was scared that Hannibal was going to kill him, but that didn’t mean he really wasn’t.

“Yes, life or… opportunities. Right after what happened four years ago, I never thought I would have the opportunity to see you or Jack ever again.” He paused. “Actually, I was resigned to it even before we took Hannibal out of the hospital. I knew the risk was high.”

Alana stopped herself from sighing in relief.

“You thought Hannibal would kill you?”

“Hannibal, or Dolarhyde, or a stray bullet from an FBI agent… the whole plan was dangerous, but it was the only one we had.”

Alana remembered Will’s determination when he had exposed it to them, the feeling of finality. It felt like another time, another life.

“If you found yourself in the same situation today, would you make the same decision? The same choice?”

Will was silent for almost a minute before he spoke up, and his words felt weighted, meaningful.

“Yes, without a doubt.”

Alana was taken aback. She hadn’t expected such strong resolve.

She couldn’t stop herself from asking why. Will’s mouth turned into a smile, slow, sharp, not reaching his eyes.

“Alana. Despite everything, there will always be a part of me that will want to be with Hannibal.”

Alana stayed silent.

 

When she left the flat, a short half hour later, following a tense conversation on subjects as unrelated as possible from Hannibal, her first thought was to call Jack. She took out her phone as soon as she was seated in the taxi.

She cut through the usual greetings, feeling a weird sense of urgency.

“Jack. I think… I think Will is doing a lot worse than we thought. His apartment… I felt almost like Hannibal was there, I didn’t… I didn’t feel safe.”

“What do you mean? I thought he was getting better, you told me he was getting better!” Jack’s voice rose, confusion and anger seeping through.

“So did I! But he must have had his guard up, and I only noticed now because I was in his space, he must have been more comfortable… he has a painting on a wall, of Saint Sebastian. He had porcelain cups, and he grinded his coffee himself! You’ll see tomorrow, he told me about the fishing… But we have to do something, or he’ll only hurt himself.”

“What… Fuck, OK, fine. I’ll try to talk to him tomorrow -not directly, I’m not an idiot. I’ll try to get him to open up, figure out a way to help him.”

“You can start by not showing him any dead bodies.” Alana replied harshly.

“He stumble on most of them on his own, to be honest.”

“I hope this is all over soon. He won’t be able to heal until Hannibal is caught.”

“So do I, Alana. For all our sakes.”


	5. Chapter 5

      There was a sense of new beginning when the latest body was found, as dark and twisted as a new beginning could be.

The message couldn’t have been clearer, as well as the target.

Will and Jack had been coming back from their afternoon of fishing which had been peaceful and pleasant, despite Jack’s worries. Jack had invited Will to his house for dinner, eager to have a conversation with him while staying somewhere warm, and they had just exited the car when they both noticed the blood seeping through the bottom of the door.

Jack’s hand immediately went to his gun, which he drew in front of him, pushing Will behind. Will stayed silent and followed Jack’s lead, stepping carefully toward the door. They avoided stepping into the growing pool of blood as much as they could and after taking a tissue from his pocket, Jack tried the handle. It moved without resistance and the door opened slowly.

There wasn’t a sound in the house, and the only light came from the street outside, but it was enough to make the blood shine. The blood was everywhere, on the floor and the walls, and in the darkness, its source appeared only as a vaguely human shape that seemed to be floating in the corridor.

For a moment, Jack was still, his gun drawn in front of him. After long seconds passed and it became obvious that there was no immediate threat, he took a deep breath and stepped inside. His eyes were fixed on the shape -the body- while his hand moved across the wall in search of the light switch.

Finally, he found it, and in an instant the gruesome scene was illuminated.

The body -a woman- had been strung to the walls so that she was held above the floor. She was facing down, with the arms and legs bent backward over her, tied with complex knots, metallic cables wrapping around the flesh. She was cut from the throat to the groin, the blood dripping from the wound, the source of the pool on the floor. The cables also seemed to be wet, and there were other cuts on the body that were probably the source of the stains on the wall.

“Will.” Jack spoke, his voice low, rough. “Call for backup.”

 

* * *

 

     They waited in front of the house for the agents to arrive, standing in front of the door to hide the view from potential curious passerby.

Jack didn’t show to his team whether he was distressed or not, but Will had noticed the slight shake of his hands while they were waiting, and he knew that Jack wasn’t fooling himself. This was a threat against him. He could have extrapolated, guessed that Hannibal somehow knew Will would be with him at that moment and thus was the real target, but Will knew that wasn’t it, and he had said so to Jack, in as a delicate way as he could manage.

Still, Jack was the head of the investigation, and if he showed fear or weakness, it would fall apart. But maybe, this new development would bring the investigation closer to finding Hannibal. So far, Will had been the only link to Hannibal they had but now… something new was starting, and Will couldn’t shake off the feeling that the finale of this whole affair was closer than ever.

 

* * *

 

      Will cooked for Thanksgiving. He followed a recipe for turkey that Hannibal had taught him years ago, as well as he could remember. It would never be as good as Hannibal’s, but it was still decent. Will wasn’t a bad cook, he just never had an interest in the culinary arts, but Hannibal’s influence had slightly changed that. Of course, the main difference between them was that Will was using actual turkey.

It was a nice meal, if a bit lonely, but Will appreciated the food and the memories it brought back. Peaceful moments in a life of unrest. Will had plenty to be thankful for, but mostly, he was thankful that he was alive, that he had survived to this moment. Everything was going to unravel soon, and he couldn’t wait to witness it all.

 

* * *

 

     As November bled into December and the weather turned dry and biting, Alana reduced the frequency of her visits to Baltimore even more. The fact that Jack had been targeted made her worry that she would be next, but she couldn’t imagine Hannibal would move onto her before he was done dealing with Jack, and she was hoping he would be caught before that happened.

She had began to dread phone calls, waiting for the one that would announce that either Jack or Will were dead, or that Hannibal was on his way to her, and she hated how it made her act. She thought of herself has a strong woman made stronger by the traumatic experiences she went through, who rose through horrors and violence and came out powerful, unafraid. She thought she got rid of her softness years ago, but she was starting to realize that was a part of her that wouldn’t change.

“That softness does not make you weak, Alana.” Margot had said to her one late night in bed. “It’s what I like about you, you are strong and rational, but not unfeeling. You still have a huge capacity for compassion,  which I guess is why you still consider Will Graham a friend.”

Alana had wrapped herself against her and buried her head in her neck.

“Is he really though? Sometimes… sometimes I don’t think there’s anything left of the Will I cared for years ago. Margot, I don’t know if I can help him. What he lived through, he still won’t talk about.”

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself or put yourself in danger, darling, but I know you. You Won't feel good unless you try everything, unless you see this to the end.”

“I’m not sure there is an end anymore.”

That night, she slept fitfully, and when she woke up, the feeling of dread hadn't left her.

 

It was soon after that conversation that her professional phone rang. The unknown number on the screen made her pause, and when she picked up, she heard the last voice she expected to hear.

“Frederick?”

“Good morning Alana.” The words were just a little mumbled, traces of wounds that despite the talent of the best doctors money could buy, would never heal entirely.

“How did you get this number?” She asked, suddenly suspicious.

“I still have contacts in our circle, Alana, I am not a complete hermit.” He said, “I have recently heard some interesting stories. Obviously I have been following Will Graham’s return to the living closely, however I have no desire to get close to this psycho again-”

“Frederick!” Alana said loudly, “Are you still going on about how Will set you up? He is a victim in this too!”

Chilton laughed, and it sounded completely fake. “Still delusional, Alana, that’s sad. I’ve always said Graham was a killer in the making, and I was right. You just don’t want to see it.”

“If you plan to keep on insulting my friend, Frederick, I can hang up.” Alana said firmly before asking, “What do you really want?”

“I’ve heard some interesting rumors that Graham isn’t Hannibal’s only target anymore. I want to know how true that is.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I have my sources.” Alana could almost hear the smirk on his voice. “So?”

“You just want to know how far you should run. I wouldn’t worry if I were you, I don’t think you are Hannibal’s priority at the moment.”

“That’s for me to decide, Alana. But thank you, you’ve just confirmed my suspicions.”

“If that’s all, I’m busy.”

“Goodbye, Alana.”

Alana hung up with replying. Immediately, she opened her computer and type an address in her browser. She was unsurprised when the page loaded to reveal a crude headline : “ **Hannibal the cannibal is widening his hunting grounds** ”, followed by a picture of Jack’s house.

 _Fucking Freddie Lounds_.


	6. Chapter 6

     Freddie was delighted.

Will Graham and Hannibal’s return to Baltimore had made Tattlecrime as popular as it had been a few years before, and despite the danger, Freddie couldn’t stay away.

Will Graham, she found, had become her biggest source of frustration. She knew the man wasn’t normal or sane, but she could never say exactly how. She knew he and Hannibal were linked somehow, but the lines were always blurred. She thought she had lost her chance when they had disappeared and Graham was assumed dead, but now that her luck had turned again, she was determined to get to the end of it.

Her delight only grew after she managed to find out that a body had been found in Jack Crawford's house. Things were moving toward something, something big, she could feel it.

Her line of work meant she was used to seeing dead bodies and gruesome scenes. She had been personally involved in a variety of life threatening situations. She had grown used to the sight of blood. She was fit, smart, she took all the security measures that wouldn’t stop her from doing her job.

She still wasn’t ready when she opened the door of her car an early morning and found herself face to face with the burned body of a woman in the driver seat.

 

The car was parked in front of the motel she was staying at for the week, as she had taken the habit of never staying in the same place for too long, just in case. She had arrived late at night and woken up early, it had only been a few hours, but somehow that had been long enough. Someone -Hannibal, she guessed- had managed to drag a dead body in the empty car park, broke into her car without activating the alarm, and left.

She couldn’t help the scream that escaped her lungs. She felt her knees shake, and in an instant she was crawling on the ground, away from the car, and desperately grabbing for her phone in her bag.

The FBI showed up fifteen minutes later, and it was only because of the shock that Freddie didn’t notice Will Graham, walking close to Jack Crawford. They stopped in front of the car while paramedics were wrapping a blanket over Freddie’s shoulders.

The body was badly burned, but not enough to be charred black. The skin was red and raw, oozing blood and other fluids. The jaw had been torn away completely so that the tongue has hanging on the remnant of the neck. The hands were tied to the wheel with metal cable, and there was a metal rod going through the chest and the back of the seat, keeping the body upright.

A part of Freddie’s mind was screaming at her to get up, to get a camera and take pictures of everything. It was ideal, there was a body right there, and most importantly, Will! She knew he had no reason to be there, it would be a huge scandal and she had a front row seat.

But her hands were shaking too badly, and her legs still felt weak. She prided herself on being an intelligent woman and she couldn’t entirely ignore the obvious. This was a threat, and she was in a lot more danger that she had imagined.

An hour or so later, she couldn’t tell, the agents started to leave the scene, a tow truck taking her car away as evidence, the ambulance getting ready to bring her to the hospital. Freddie had calmed down enough to lament on the loss of potential pictures and she was considering snapping a few with her phone before the medics got her inside the ambulance when she heard voices.

It was only chance that made Jack and Will not notice her, half hidden behind the ambulance’s door, as they walked toward their cars. They were talking in low voices, and despite straining her ear, Freddie only managed to catch a few words, but it was enough.

“... do you want me to tell you, Jack? This is not Hannibal! It’s definitely the same killer as the one we found in the forest.”

“I can’t do anything without proof, it looks like Hannibal’s…”

Freddie didn’t catch the end of the conversation, but she didn’t need it. This was brand new, completely exclusive information, and it was going to be her next headline.

“ **New killer fan of Hannibal the cannibal?!** ”

 

* * *

 

     “I don’t care, you get her out of here. We’ve already interviewed her and she refused our protection. Just kick her out!”

Jack hung up and threw his phone on his desk, away from him. He shouldn’t have yelled at his secretary, but Freddie Lounds’ constant visits in the week following the discovery of a body in her car were starting to border on harassment.

The first interview with her had been remarkably calm, but Jack had guessed it was because she was still in shock. Now though, she seemed as careless as always, not grasping the danger she was in.

They all had different theories about the how and the why of the murders. Did Hannibal want to scare them? Was he trying to say something to them? Retracing his life in Baltimore before he… what, killed himself? Jack hoped it was because he knew he was going to be caught soon, so he wanted a grand final, to end with a massacre more terrible than anything he had done before. He couldn’t even imagine Hannibal committing suicide. He didn’t think Hannibal planned to kill him or Freddie, if he did, why kill someone else first? He wasn’t even sure what he wanted with Will anymore.

There was also Will’s insistence that some of the bodies were the work of another killer. Jack wanted to believe him, but there wasn’t a trace, nothing to confirm his theory. It looked like Hannibal’s work so perfectly, every detail, the artistry, the precision, the meanings. And Jack didn’t think there existed another killer that could copy Hannibal so closely when it came to this, because it required understanding an impossible brain, so full of darkness and violence. Will, maybe, could come close, but Jack wouldn’t let it come to that.

He had been watching Will as closely as he could while being busy with the investigation. He was trying to follow Alana’s advice and keep Will away from most murders, but it had been pure chance that Will had already been with him when he had gotten the alert for the last body.

Will was… acting different. He was calm in a way Jack hadn’t even seen during the red dragon investigation. He had expected Will to be a shell of a man, constantly shaken by his trauma, with panic attacks and constant anxiety. But Will seemed in control of himself. He didn’t talk about what happened to him, and never mentioned Hannibal outside of the investigation, but otherwise he acted with a degree of normality that never stopped surprising Jack.

Alana had explained that this type of attitude was also a possible reaction to trauma and she had warned him that Will was still deeply hurt inside, and not to dismiss his pain while it was so carefully hidden. It was an effort to keep that in mind sometimes, when Will seemed to be so much better.

It was only because he had talked with Alana the day before that Jack didn’t immediately call Will when another body was found.

 

It was found a week after Christmas, which had been a solitary time for Jack that had only been different from other evenings in the quantity of alcohol he had drank. When Jack got the call, his hand had hovered over his mobile, ready to call Will but hesitating long enough to remember Alana’s warnings.

There wasn’t any doubt it was Hannibal’s creation. The body of a young man was dressed in an elegant white suit which was stained with blood. The bottom half of the body was pierced with large pieces of broken glass, turning the fabric of the pants red, and the spine had been broken clean at the bottom. The body was seated in a wooden chair, the head thrown back, the throat barred with a clean cut running from one side of it to another.

Price and Zeller examined the body under Jack’s eye and quickly determined that the cut at the throat had been the killing blow, and that all other injuries had been inflicted before death. There was so far no trace of missing organs, but Jack knew they would find something once they’d have a closer look at the body.

After an hour or two, Jack decided that while he wasn’t going to invite Will to the crime scene, he should still warn him about it. He stepped outside the building and called him.

“Will. I have some news.” Jack said in lieu of greeting.

“Has there been another body?” Will asked immediately.

Jack agreed.

“Do you want me to come to the scene?” Will asked.

“No.” Jack replied, “It’s fine, nothing unusual. It’s definitely Hannibal. You can stop by the office later if you want, I’ll show you pictures. I just wanted to let you know.”

“Thanks. Is it… is it targeting someone specific this time too?”

“No, the place seems random. It’s some hipster-y supermarket, the owner discovered it when she opened this morning.”

Jack heard Will’s breath catch. “A supermarket? What is it called, Jack?” There was a urgency in his voice that made a shiver run down Jack’s back.

“It’s called…” Jack took a look at the facade of the building. “Hortensia Groceries.”

Jack heard a slump, like something falling to the ground. “Will?”

“It’s... “ Will’s voice was low, almost a whisper. “Jack, it’s where I buy food. Every week.”

Jack, who had been walking back toward the entrance of the store, stopped. Only his already tight grip on his phone stopped him from dropping it. A feeling of helplessness overcame him for a moment, and his resolve broke. Alana would have to understand, this was for her safety too. He took a deep breath before speaking again.

“Will, I need you to come after all. I’ll send a car to get you.”

 

* * *

 

     Will’s hands were shaking as he put down his phone on the table, having just finished his call with Jack. Jack, Alana, then Freddie Lounds and now… Him, again. The targets were precise, obvious. The message was clear : Hannibal was showing Will that he knew him, that nothing Will did was a secret for him, and that he was getting closer, almost close enough to touch.

The murder in Jack’s house had been the first escalation from the murders directed at Will. Now, there would be another, and this one, Will knew, would be the grand finale.

Will curled his fingers into fists and straightened his back. After a moment, the shaking stopped and Will smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

     Will had a routine. Despite the deep cold of early January, Will walked everywhere. On mondays, he went grocery shopping. The little state help and money he got from freelance work didn’t allow him to buy the best quality goods, but he made an effort to get decent products. On tuesdays and thursdays, he had his video call appointments with Alana, that usually lasted about an hour. On wednesday without fault, he would go to the museum.

It wasn’t a big museum and Will had quickly seen all it had to offer, but he still appreciated the space. Every time, he would spend some time looking at the same painting, sometimes standing, sometimes sitting on a bench further away. His position didn’t matter, so much as the position of the FBI agents guarding him.

Their number had been reduced with time as no immediate threat had been made against him. Only since the beginning of winter had he been able to go inside the museum alone. That had been a relief, he didn’t need to be on his guard as much. There wasn’t a situation in which being observed at all time was comfortable, especially for someone like him. And finally he was able to turn his eyes toward the the real subject of his presence here.

A few meters away from the painting there was a man with his back to Will, sitting on a small folding chair, with a painting stand in front of him. He was working on a copy of the painting, his progress slow but careful. Over the weeks he had been there, Will had been able to observe the advancement of the painting, and the wednesday after the body had been found in the supermarket, Will could tell that the man was almost done.

 

After observing the painter working for an hour, Will made a decision. He stood up and walked toward the man, stopping next to him. He held his hands behind his back and looked at the original painting on the wall.

“It’s a beautiful piece.” He said, still not looking at the painter.

“It is.” The man replied, his lack of movement indicating that he wasn’t looking at Will either.

“I meant to ask, why copy? Why not do something that is yours completely?”

“Copying can be necessary to learn. It can show admiration, even reverence.”

“Creating an identical copy isn’t possible though.”

“There is always something of the creator showing through the work. Different creators means different creations, no matter how close they look.”

“Yes.”

“Copying is just a stepping stone, for you, Will. A learning process before you start your masterpiece, isn’t it?”

Will let his hands drop at his sides. He was still staring at the painting but it was taking all his strength not to turn his head and look at the man next to him. He hadn’t seen him in so long and the need to look at him was like a hole in his guts.

He felt more than heard the painter move, slowly packing his materials, folding the painting stand and his chair and finally standing up to stand next to Will.

“Have I been a good student?” Will asked in a whisper.

The voice that answered was soft, almost tender.

“The best.”

 

* * *

 

     It was an innocuous day.

Jack had been back to living in his house for a few weeks now, and the journey home from Quantico was as automatic as it ever had been. It wasn’t very late, but the long hours of January meant that by the time he entered the house, the sky outside was already dark.

Everything was quiet, as it always was, but Jack’s mind was still turning. The Hannibal investigation was at another dead end. Bodies had been popping up all over Baltimore for almost a year, they knew he was in the city and yet they seemed incapable of catching him. Each day he was at large was a day Jack’s superiors might fire him, a day more for his colleagues’ disdain for him to grow. He felt his incompetence in face of Hannibal’s evasiveness like a shackle at his ankle.

Alana refused to come back to Baltimore, and Will was growing more distant as Jack had less and less free time to meet with him.

They had to have missed something. There was no way Hannibal could hide so well when everyone was looking for him. How could he put the bodies in place without being seen? Where would he find the space to commit his crimes? They had looked everywhere, inside warehouses and basements, every abandoned building.

They hadn't even learned everything he had done to Will since Will still refused to talk about it in details. Alana could repeat that it might take years for him to open up on the subject as many time as she wanted, it wasn’t helping the investigation. If Will needed Hannibal to be caught to heal, why wasn’t he telling them? Telling Jack?

Jack locked the door behind him, dropped his keys in bowl and hung his coat and scarf. The movements were automatic, the result of year of repetition.  His mind was solely focused on the whisky waiting for him in his living room, and he walked almost blindly through the corridor.

It was only once he was uncapping the bottle and raising it to serve himself a glass that he noticed the presence in the room.

 

Jack froze, his grip tightening on the bottle to avoid dropping it. For a moment, no one moved. Then, the presence stepped away from its hiding place and walked toward Jack, into the soft orange light that illuminated the room from the ceiling.

“Hello Jack,” Hannibal said, a cold, deadly smile on his face.

It was a voice that shook Jack to his core, that made all of his anger, all of his disgust and hatred rise up and threaten to spill over. He couldn't tell if those feelings were more directed to himself or to Hannibal.

Carefully, he put the bottle back on the cabinet and turned to face Hannibal.

“Hannibal,” He said through gritted teeth.

“Have a drink, Jack, I wouldn’t want to deprive you. And please sit.”

Hannibal gestured to the sofa. Jack noticed that Hannibal was wearing a suit. An elegant suit, obviously tailored. He seemed healthy, and barely older. He looked so much like the man Jack had first met all those years ago, Jack felt compelled to listen to him. He was also wary of Hannibal’s intentions. If he hadn’t tried to kill him immediately, Jack wasn’t in any hurry to make it happen.

Once Jack was seated, glass of whisky in hand, Hannibal spoke again.

“I have to admit Jack, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you. This little game we’ve been playing has been entertaining, but I’m sure you have many questions,” He paused. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to contact the FBI. We don’t need to make this more painful than it needs to be.”

“You think I’ll just let you kill me?”

“Oh Jack, I never imagined that you would make it easy.”

Jack’s brain started rushing through the possibilities. He could attack Hannibal now but… he needed answers, and Hannibal’s confidence was worrying. If he could delay him enough, he might be able to get close to a phone, or to his house alarm. In the meantime, he had so many questions, but the first one was obvious.

“What did you do to Will?”

Hannibal smiled again, and his eyes almost softened for a moment.

“I didn’t do anything, I’m afraid.”

“I meant during those four years you held him captive,” Jack spat. “He still can’t talk about it.”

“Oh I know what you meant, Jack, and my answer is as it was.”

“What?” Jack was growing more confused as Hannibal spoke.

“Will told me you were as blind as ever, but I didn’t believe that possible. I will have to apologize about that. I have not done anything to Will that he wasn’t entirely consenting to.”

Jack put his glass down on the coffee table next to the sofa and brought his hands to his face. He didn’t understand what Hannibal meant. He couldn’t be talking about Will, he couldn't…

“Have you been forcing Will to help you this whole time?” His voice came out rough with shock. How horrible it was to imagine that Hannibal had still been hurting Will right under his nose. He had failed Will again.

Hannibal sighed.

“You are not listening Jack,” He said and turned around.

Jack immediately raised his head to look at him, getting ready to be attacked, but Hannibal had turned away from him and toward the entrance of the corridor.

“Darling,” Hannibal said, and something dropped inside Jack’s stomach at the wrongness of the word in Hannibal’s voice. “I think there is no need to delay this anymore. This conversation isn’t going anywhere.”

There was silence for a moment then, a familiar voice.

“Fine.”

 

Jack starred as Will stepped into the room. He was wearing a plastic suit over dark clothes, and his face was blank, but his eyes were dark and burning.

Jack felt like his brain had short circuited. He couldn’t comprehend what he was looking at, couldn’t recognize Will as he stood next to Hannibal. He had misunderstood everything completely.

“Jack,” Will said, “I’d love to say that this doesn’t come as a surprise to you but unfortunately, I’m pretty sure it is. Honestly, it wasn’t even like I was trying very hard to hide it.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Jack choked.

“It means,” Will said, settling next to Hannibal, “that you are still a fool. You still can’t see or accept the consequences of your actions, and that, unfortunately for you, your manipulations have always been less attractive than Hannibal’s.”

Hannibal was smiling silently beside him, visibly entertained. Jack sat frozen, eyes on Will, drink long forgotten.

Will sighed when the silence lasted too long and spoke again, exasperation clear in his voice.

“Hannibal didn’t hurt me and I’ve been working with him since I’ve been back in Baltimore.”

“What…? How?” Jack managed to let out, trying to process the information.

“Easily,” Will said, “I had enough freedom for what I needed to do. I choose my flat, it has its design quirks, but they’ve been very practical when I needed to go out without alerting my FBI escort. I’ve met Hannibal in public places, and after some time, he was able to come visit me, but only occasionally which has been… frustrating.”

Hannibal moved a hand to rest it on Will’s tight, his thumb rubbing circles over the plastic of Will’s suit. Jack starred.

“Don’t look so shocked, Jack. You’re the one who pushed me into Hannibal’s waiting arms,” Will continued, “You don’t have the right to be surprised that I made myself comfortable there.”

Jack swallowed and turned his eyes to Will’s.

“I never meant for this to happen Will. You were- are- a good man, and you’re my friend.”

Will laughed at that, bitter and insincere.

“We haven’t been friends in a long time, if we ever truly were. You manipulated me, dragged me in the field against my wishes, ignored my deteriorating mental health as long as it suited you, you only ever saw the investigation, the results. You pushed and took as it suited you,” Will stood up, voice getting progressively louder, “You took me away from the only good thing in my life! I had a wife, a kid! Molly was good and she made… she made me want to _be_ good. I knew that at some point, either I would come back to Hannibal on my own or you would take me away, whichever came first.”

“You could still come back, still go back to that!” Jack tried, but Will interrupted him immediately.

“You think I want to go back? No, Jack, it’s not that simple. See, with Molly I was good. Sometimes happy. But with Hannibal I’m…” His voice softened, eyes leaving Jack and turning to look at Hannibal, “I’m at _peace_.”

“At peace? You killed people!”

“Yes,” Will said, still facing Hannibal, “If I wanted to be poetic, I could say that I’ve embraced the darkness within me. It is peaceful, to accept oneself entirely after a lifetime of rejecting it. That darkness, that… potential, has always been there. There is a reason why I did the work I did, and why I was so good at it.”

“I can’t believe this.” Jack was shaking slightly, his hands resting on his knees, fingers digging in the fabric of his trousers. “This isn’t happening.”

“I’m afraid it is, Jack.” Hannibal said. Jack startled at the sound of his voice. He hadn’t forgotten that he was in the room, but his presence had been diminished by Will’s.

“Why did you come back? Why risk coming to Baltimore if all you say is true? Some petty revenge against me?”

“Well, yes, for my part.” Will said flatly. “Hannibal has some promises to keep that necessitated his presence here, and while I like to feel _righteous_ and don’t kill indiscriminately, I can be selfish sometimes. I’ve been wanting to turn your game against you for a long time, Jack, and, believe me: I will enjoy this.”

 

Jack’s eyes widened. He rose to his feet abruptly, but it was too late. Hannibal was already in his space, and he felt the tingle of a needle in his neck. His knees buckled and his vision blurred around the edges. He tried to shake Hannibal away from him, but his arms were weak and uncoordinated. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Will’s undefined shape approaching and heard his voice like a distant echo.

“You know, you’ve never truly  apologized to me for how you treated me all those years ago. It’s a good thing I haven't expected something from you in a long time. But don’t worry, this will make up for it. I promise it will hurt.”

Jack let out a weak whimper as his legs finally gave out and he fell to the floor, the world turning black as consciousness left him.


	8. Chapter 8

     Alana called Will first. She was crying, gasping for breath, and Will spent more time soothing her than trying to sound shocked by Jack’s death.

“I warned him. I warned him!” Alana was repeating, voice broken with grief. Despite all their disagreement, all the distance between them, she still had a heart big enough to grieve for Jack. Also, Will guessed, the state Hannibal and him had left Jack in would be enough for anyone will the usual levels of empathy to feel for him.

Will hadn’t been gentle.

Years of resentment had played a large part in the violence Will had demonstrated, but Will could admit to himself, he was always violent, always following his raw emotions, letting them flow out of him in vicious strokes and blows. Even when he was in control, there was something rough about him that was different from Hannibal. That was something they had discovered quickly after killing Dolarhyde, and had explored together not without pleasure.

“I told him Hannibal would stop playing games one day, that Jack couldn’t keep going like this but he never listened, and now… now he’s…” Alana continued, interrupting herself with sobs. Will forced his breath to be louder and irregular, to give the impression of shock.

They had been careful not to leave any evidence of Will’s presence in Jack’s house. Hannibal had generously accepted to take the credit for Will’s work, as he had done several times during their years on the run. Will didn’t feel the need for anyone outside a very short list of specific people to know of his… proclivities. It had allowed them to play this drawn out game.

“Alana, calm down,” Will said softly, “Are you sure? Are you sure it was Jack and that… Hannibal killed him?”

“Yes,” She sobbed, “Yes I’m certain.” There was a pause, then, voice suddenly stronger, more solid, “I’m coming to Baltimore. For Jack’s funeral, and to finally catch Hannibal, this has gone on for too long.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Will asked with pretend concern. When Alana confirmed, he added, “call me when you arrive?” She agreed again, and hung up after saying goodbye and making Will assure her that he would stay as safe as possible.

Will put his phone down on the table and smiled. He was tempted to call Hannibal, but he knew that he was going to be under close scrutiny after Jack’s body was found, so they had agreed to keep their distance. Still, he wished he could share his satisfaction. With Alana coming back to Baltimore, almost all the pieces were in place, there was only one pawn missing, but Will wasn’t worried. She would be coming to him soon enough.

 

* * *

 

     For once in her life, Freddie Lounds didn’t know what to do. She knew how to do her job, of course, and she had done it with the same level of skill she always showed. She’d managed to take pictures of the body, but just barely.

She had seen many dead bodies, due to her line of work, and many horrifying crime scenes of all kinds. But what had been done to Jack… It was high in the list of most horrible reaper murders. Hannibal had outdone himself.

Jack’s arms and legs had been cut of, progressively, starting from the toes and fingers. He’d been hit repeatedly in the face, leaving his skin marred with bruises. He’d suffered several cuts across his torso, and a deadly, final one over his throat.

She’d overheard the medics saying the torture must have lasted all night. It was lucky that with the high level of alert the FBI was in at the moment, they had reacted immediately when Jack hadn’t showed up for work in the morning, otherwise, the body could have stayed hidden within the house for a long time.

Freddie knew it wasn’t just lucky though. Hannibal must have planned everything in a way that he’d known by whom and when the body would be discovered. If this had been any other crime scene, she’d have laughed at Jack for not realising that. But Jack was dead, and that brought her back to her main problem : she didn’t know what to do.

Should she run? Hide? She wasn’t even certain that Hannibal was going to come after her. She had gotten close before, and taken risks, but never this close, never like this. It was difficult to admit, but there had been a part of her that had seen Jack as invincible. He was a fool, but he was always there. He had survived through everything, and in some corner of her mind, Freddie had accepted that Jack would outlive them all.

He hadn’t and Freddie was at loss. She didn’t know who to go to for answers.

Her mind still rushing, trying to make a decision, she started packing a small suitcase, walking circles in her room, taking random clothes and throwing them on her bed. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became: she had to leave. She would go to the west coast, or south, for a few months least, until things had calmed down. But she still had a job to do and answers to find and publish. There was one stop she had to make before going to the airport.

 

* * *

 

     Will looked tired. More than usual, anyway. He hadn’t looked surprised when he had opened the door to find Freddie standing in his building’s hallway. Freddie had expected some surprise, but he had only sighed and gestured for her to come inside.

“Let’s get it over with.” He said, his voice covering the sound of the lock settling in place.

Freddie looked around with wide eyes as she made her way to the living room. The flat was bare, minimalist,  which was a stark contrast with what she remembered from Will’s old Wolf Trap house.

There was a suitcase next to the sofa, and as she noticed it, a shiver ran down her back. Something wasn’t right there.

“Going somewhere?” She ask, dropping her bag on the table and turning to look at Will. They sad down, Will on an armchair and Freddie on the sofa, facing him.

“Maybe.” He replied. Freddie had forgotten how frustrating talking to him could be at times.

“I have some questions.” She said instead of what she really wanted to ask (where he was going, why).

“About Jack.” Will said. Freddie nodded.

She had thought for a long time about the exact formulation of the questions so she would get the answers she needed. Directness always seemed to work best with Will Graham.

“Did you know Hannibal was going to go after him?” She asked, “Do you have any idea of what his plan is?”

A slow smile formed on Will’s face. “You mean, does he plan to kill you?”

Freddie frowned, but there was no point in playing games here. “Yes.”

“Then, Yes.” Will say, voice calm and even, his eyes never leaving Freddie’s.

“Yes to what?”

“All of it.”

“What do you mean?” Freddie could feel the anger rise within her, she didn’t have time for wordplay!

Will’s smile grew.

“You’re a smart woman Freddie, you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Freddie shuddered, and after a second of hesitation, she stood up and grabbed her bag.

“If you’re not going to answers my questions, I might as well go, before you waste any more of my time.”

She walked to the door, Will following close behind. The short hallway to the door was lit only by a small lamp on the ceiling which gave a red glow to the space. The wall were so close two people couldn’t walk side by side, and in the small space, Will’s presence behind her became almost oppressive. Abruptly and with absolute certainty, Freddie knew she had to get out of there.

 

She reached the door and raised her hand to open the lock, but as her fingers brushed the metal, she felt a weight on her back. Will had crowded her against the door, his chest pressed against her back and his hand stopping hers. She didn’t dare move.

“Oh Freddie.” He said, voice low and soft, almost a whisper, spoken directly next to her ear, his mouth so close she could feel his lips moving against her skin. Freddie held her breath. “You came to visit and I welcomed you into my home. It would be rude to leave so soon, wouldn’t it?”

Freddie opened her mouth, but she couldn’t speak. The words were evading her as she was coming to the realization that she had completely misjudged Will. She had known, years ago, that he was a dangerous man, but she had let herself forget exactly how dangerous he was.

“You'll get the answers to your questions,” he continued, moving slightly so that he was breathing against Freddie’s neck, “but I don’t think you’ll like them.” Freddie felt his lips turn into a smile and then burning, hot pain as he bit down and let the blood pour out of her, then, darkness.

 

* * *

 

     They ate her tongue. Hannibal had cleaned the wound at her neck, which had been deep enough to hurt but not kill, and they had tied her to a chair and gagged her. She had cried as Hannibal had explained what had been going on and what was going to happen to her. They burned her throat and grilled her tongue with vegetables, and she watched them eat it. They cut her fingers, one by one, and Will had laughed when Hannibal said she would definitely be at the crime scene before the FBI this time. She passed out from the pain, and they didn’t try to wake her up before they finally killed her.


	9. Chapter 9

     Hannibal always kept his promises, so they had to see Alana, but Will’s continuing respect for her meant that Hannibal would have to compromise. Despite Alana’s many faults and all the way she had hurt him as well as her overwhelming pity, she had for a long time been the only one genuinely concerned with his well being, and for that Will asked Hannibal to spare her life. For now.

With time, Will’s lingering feelings of respect and traces of affection for her would disappear, only then Hannibal would strike. But they had agreed that neither her wife nor her child should die by their hands. They didn’t kill children, and they both greatly appreciated Margot. That should appease Alana enough, even if she would live the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.

They hadn’t had time to change after killing Freddie, and Will found the plastic suit uncomfortable which explained the small blood stains on his shirt. He had worn an old jacket over it, but blood slipped through almost everything. They were some traces on his face too, from when he had bitten Freddie. He was almost gleeful as he imagined Alana’s reaction to his appearance. There was something quite satisfying in showing his predatory side to someone who looked upon him with pity.

They entered the hotel Alana was staying at through the service door. The separated when they reached Alana’s floor, Will going to her door alone. This was something Hannibal wasn’t needed for.

He knocked and waited.

She opened the door slowly, leaving the security chain in place until she recognized him. She welcomed him inside her room, her eyes wide and worried.

“Will! It’s late! Did something happen? Are you alright?”

Will smiled softly at her.

“I’m perfectly fine. I came to say goodbye, and give you a message.”

He had stayed close to the door and didn’t intend to move, so Alana was the one that came closer to him, which was when she noticed the blood. Her face became pale and her hands reached out, coming close to his chest but not touching.

“What do you… is that blood? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” He brushed her hands away, “It’s not mine.”

“Who is… What is going on?”

She took a step away from him and Will sighed.

“You’re not as blind as Jack, Alana. I know you’ve been suspicious of me for a while now. I haven’t been trying very hard to hide my nature,” he paused, the dramatic effect not lost on Alana, “I killed with Hannibal. Have been killing with him since the Great Red Dragon.”

Alana’s skin went from pale to ghostly white, she didn’t move but Will saw the small shaking in her hands. Despite her suspicions, she wouldn’t have expected such blunt admissions from him.

“You’ve always known there was a darkness within me, a capacity for violence, and for a time, despite this, you were still my friend,” he continued, “For that, I’ve asked Hannibal to not go after you immediately.”

Alana’s shoulders tensed at the words, but she stayed silent.

“I can’t tell you if or when he will kill you. But I can give you a promise of my own. We will not go after after your wife and child.”

Her shoulders relaxed. She was still shaking, but the promise seemed to have given her the strength to finally speak.

“Why?” Her voice was weak, broken.

“Why what? Why we’re not killing you now? Or your family?” Will’s tone was light and he rolled his eyes when he remembered the conversation he had with Hannibal on that subject. “Mostly, because Hannibal likes to indulge me.”

“No, I mean… Why are you doing all this? Killing, being with Hannibal?” She paused, slowly coming to a realization. “Oh god… you really are _with_ him, aren’t you?”

“I’m afraid, Alana, that this is none of your business. But if you must know why, the answer is simple, really. I decided I would be selfish for once.”

He didn’t let her answer. Before she could react he lunged on her, the syringe he had hidden in his pocket pushing against her neck before she could fight him.

He would have liked talking with her longer, he was curious of what her new opinion of him would be, of she would treat him with the same disdain she had treated Hannibal as a way to hide the lingering respect and affection she had for him? Or would she be able to reject him completely? The only thing he was certain of was that she would blame herself, for missing the signs a second time. It was a small price to pay for her life, though.

 

Someone coughed behind him, and Will turned to see Hannibal in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, smirking. Will waited, holding Alana’s limp body. After a moment, Hannibal moved to help him carry her to her bed. Ever the gentleman, Hannibal put the covers over her, so she wouldn’t be cold while she slept - for the rest of the night, if the anesthetic did its job - but they still handcuffed one of her wrists to the bed frame, just in case.

“We’re done?” Will asked once Hannibal seemed satisfied.

“I believe we are.”

Hannibal smiled, and Will recognized a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. Everything had gone as they had planned, something Will hadn’t thought would surprise him, but only now that it was over did he realize how anxious he had been. Despite all their planning, the risks had been heavy, and Will refused to be separated from Hannibal any longer than they had already been.

They walked out of the hotel by another service door. A car was parked just in front of it in the dark alleyway. It was black, nondescript but still elegant. Hannibal immediately went to open the trunk and got a clean shirt out of a bag, which he handed to Will. When Will had changed, he got in the passenger seat while Hannibal took the wheel.

They left Baltimore in a comfortable silence, Will’s hand resting over Hannibal’s between the seats.

 

* * *

 

      Will open the door to the motel’s room and dropped his bags inside. It was past 4 in the morning, They had taken turns driving, but he was still tired. Murder, he had come to learn, was good exercise.

Hannibal came up behind him and locked the door. Will hadn’t moved, the way they stood he could feel Hannibal’s warmth on his back. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had missed this.

They’d barely touched since they’d killed Jack, because Will knew that if he started it would be hard to stop, and he couldn’t kill Freddie or talk to Alana if his hands were busy touching Hannibal in any way possible. But now… They were alone, truly alone in the deserted highway motel, and they had time. Not much, but it would be enough for now, and Will ached to touch.

The sharp intake of breath behind him told him Hannibal felt the same.

Will turned around abruptly and almost immediately Hannibal’s hands were on his hips and his lips pressed against Will’s. Will opened his mouth in a gasp, giving Hannibal the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Will’s lips were dry and chapped and his beard rough against Hannibal’s skin, but Hannibal’s tongue was warm and wet and hungry. Lacing his arms around Hannibal’s neck, Will took a step forward, pushing Hannibal against the door and reducing the distance between them.

Chest to chest, arms holding on tight and fingers bruising skin, lips separating only long enough for them to gasp in air before the kissing intensified more, Will felt himself harden in his trousers. It had been so long and now he _wanted_ so much. He rocked his hips against Hannibal’s and was satisfied when he felt Hannibal’s erection against his tight. He smiled into the kiss.

It was Hannibal’s turn to push Will, and they stumbled toward the bed -which was thankfully not far. Will let himself fall on his back over the covers, Hannibal immediately climbing on top of him, straddling his hips and bending down to kiss him some more.

Moments passed with lips trailing against skin, hands fumbling with clothes, roaming over bodies until they found their goal. Hannibal moaned when Will’s lube-covered fingers found his hole, Will savored the sound - it had been way too long since he last heard it.

They had moved so that Will was sitting with his back against the wall, Hannibal still straddling him. They both shuddered every time their cocks brushed against the other, the friction terribly teasing but any more would have ended their fun early.

Will fingered Hannibal for as long as they could bear, until Hannibal ordered him to fuck him in a tone Will couldn’t resist. Hannibal lowered himself on Will’s cock just as Will had finished putting on the condom. They both rocked their hips in a fast rhythm, Will’s fingers digging in Hannibal tights, Hannibal’s nails marking the skin of Will’s back with red moons that would surely bleed a little bit.

It was rough and desperate, the need to touch, to be as close as possible, strong and insistent. They panted, their breaths loud in the room, the wet slaps of their fucking echoing in the night.

They fell asleep together, Hannibal’s arm over Will’s waist, Will’s nose buried in the crook of Hannibal’s neck. It was the best sleep Will had had in a long time.

 

They didn’t look at the news before they left the motel after only a few hours of sleep. They had a plane to catch before the FBI realized Will was gone. It would only take them far enough to get on the boat Will and Hannibal had bought after their first disappearance all those years ago. It was their home, even if they technically spent more time on land, they always came back to it between every city they went to. More than that, it was safe and isolated, and that was all Will wanted for now. He would have Hannibal to himself for a few months at least, and he planned to use that time to compensate for all the moments they had been separated in the past year.

They met Chiyo in the small private airport, the woman as cold as ever and still loyal even in her freedom, and in less than an hour they were in the air, Will’s heart getting lighter with every new mile distancing him from Baltimore.


	10. Epilogue

     As far as the FBI knew, there hadn’t been a Hannibal murder since he and Will Graham had disappeared for the second time, over two years ago. As the truth about Will Graham had come out, the FBI had been under heavy fire. Deep down, Alana was grateful that Jack was dead, otherwise it would have been his head on a stick. It must have hurt him, being betrayed by Will in this manner, but the shame from not having seen it earlier had to have been better than the public shaming he would have received if he had been there for it. Small mercies.

Alana was drinking. She drank more often now, regularly but reasonably, or so Margot said. She smoked more too, she blamed the anxiety. It wasn’t easy, living with a death sentence hanging over your head. It wasn’t much different than before -she had always known Hannibal would come for her someday- but now that Will was involved, it was more… bitter.

Bedelia Du Maurier’s body had been found six months ago, and there had been no sign of Will or Hannibal. She had heard chatter from the FBI, from the few contacts she still had there, that they had tried their best to link them to the murder but they hadn’t been able to. “Body” wasn’t exactly accurate, either. She’d been just a torso, but the autopsy had revealed she had died of a drug overdose. It wasn’t Hannibal’s usual method, but Alana didn’t doubt it had been him and Will. Hannibal had been close to Bedelia. He wouldn’t have let anyone else kill her.

The only person she talked about Will with was Margot. She couldn’t even tell her therapist. She hadn’t realized how many secrets she had gained, and how dark some of them were. When she looked at pictures of herself from years ago, she couldn’t recognize the person she had been, and it hurts. Only when she was with Margot, when she held her son against her, when they ate dinner, just the three of them, and their mansion was filled with love and laughter, could she remember what really matter and forget all her regrets. She didn’t want to die, but as long as she had the certitude that her family would be safe, she could accept it.

There was only one secret she kept to herself, that even Margot didn’t know about. In a drawer in her desk, there was a secret compartment, and in this compartment there was a fake bottom, completely invisible to those who didn’t already know it was there. Under it was Alana’s secret; a reminder, and a warning, and a cherished memory.

It was the only picture she had with all of them, standing awkwardly together in front of Quantico. Jack, at the center, holding straight and proud; Zeller and Price next to him, laughing at something one of them had said; Beverly, hands in her pockets; on the other side, Alana herself, hair long and curly, face bare of make up, a small smile on her lips. Will was almost hidden behind her and was looking to the side of the camera in the distance, but his shoulder were relaxed despite the awkwardness of the situation, he had been among friends. And finally, Hannibal, pristine as always in a blue suit, his hands crossed behind his back. His body was facing the camera, but he must have moved just before they took the picture because his head was turned and he was looking at Will with an expression that could only be described as fondness.

The memory was tainted with blood and terror now, and some days Alana could barely breath from her hatred and disgust for what Hannibal and Will had become- had always been. But there were other days, times when she took the picture out and stared at it for hours, when she lost herself in her memories and let her heart grow a little bit bigger with the hope she had felt so easily years and years ago. And she would never admit it, even to herself, but during those moments she was almost grateful to have known them and she hoped, silently, that wherever they were, the people they had been had found a small part of happiness.

 

* * *

 

     Will would never get tired of waking up without an alarm, in a warm bed, and with his body aching from the absolutely amazing sex of the previous night. He opened his eyes to a sunlit room, with a fresh breeze coming from the open window, a welcome relief from the wet heat of the spanish summer. The smell of warm, freshly cooked bread reached him. Will got out of bed, not bothering to find his clothes, and walk to the kitchen.

He was greeted by the sight of a half naked Hannibal, wearing only loose trousers and an apron, putting their plates together in preparation for breakfast. Will couldn’t stop the wide smile that formed on his lips. It was a vision he didn’t think he would ever get tired of.

They sat down to eat, talking about their plans for the day between bites and gulps of delicious coffee. They had just come back from Barcelona, so Will wanted to spend a few weeks in the mountains, enough to truly appreciate the quiet and go fishing. After that, maybe they would go to France, or get back on their boat and sail across the Mediterranean. Or they would go north if they got tired of the heat. Will didn’t know yet, but he didn’t care. Hannibal had promised him Europe, after months spent in South America, then almost a year sailing between the Oceanian Island, and they had all the time in the world.

Will savored another bite of his meal, a mixed salads with fruits and vegetables and small pieces of tender meat that melted on his tongue and went perfectly with the sweet and savory flavors of the mix. He hummed in pleasure and met Hannibal’s eyes.

Their week in Barcelona had been productive. The warm color of the meat reminded Will of the flash of a blade, a distorted mouth, and how freshly spilled blood was warm against his skin even in the summer heat.

Will took another bite of meat, his eyes never leaving Hannibal’s. Hannibal waited, a curious glint in his eyes. Will chewed carefully, relishing in the taste, and finally he swallowed, and smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Character deaths include : Jack Crawford, Freddie Lounds.
> 
> Violence includes : very graphic description of dead bodies and murder and some cannibalism, although nothing more graphic than what can be seen in the show.
> 
> The paintings mentioned are : _"Still-Life with Cherries and Strawberries in China Bowls"_ , Osias Beert, 1608.  
>  _"Saint Sebastian"_ , Guido Reni, 1615.  
> None of these paintings are in Baltimore or privately owned, but I decided against realism and for the aesthetic. 
> 
> Title is from "A Poison Tree", a poem by William Blake in "Songs of Experience". 
> 
> _"I was angry with my friend;_  
>  _I told my wrath, my wrath did end._  
>  _I was angry with my foe:_  
>  _I told it not, my wrath did grow._
> 
> _And I waterd it in fears,_  
>  _Night & morning with my tears:_  
>  _And I sunned it with smiles,_  
>  _And with soft deceitful wiles._
> 
> _And it grew both day and night._  
>  _Till it bore an apple bright._  
>  _And my foe beheld it shine,_  
>  _And he knew that it was mine._
> 
> _And into my garden stole,_  
>  _When the night had veild the pole;_  
>  _In the morning glad I see;_  
>  _My foe outstretched beneath the tree."_
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
